To Die a Hero You Got to Beat the Mind Games
by Purple Sensibility
Summary: Dr. Cynthia Dawn is being hunted. Hunted by a former patient who is bent on breaking her. Sent to Gotham to study the infamous Joker, she finds herself turning to him for protection. But what happens when she finds herself caught in a war of psychopaths?
1. Chapter 1

"Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? So help you God?"

I laid my fingertips on the leather-bound bible. It was cool beneath my fingers. "I swear." My voice rang through the courtroom, bouncing off the high ceiling. The man took the Bible away and stepped down, leaving me in full view of the other occupants in the room. But only one interested me.

The man of my attention was humming quietly, glancing about at the walls. Occasionally, he would chuckle to himself as he absently tugged against his restraints. His green/brown hair was greasy and disheveled, and his makeup horribly smeared. His scarred lips were curled into an eternal smile. The purple coat he wore was still singed from the bomb he had set off not eight hours ago.

The Joker.

"Please address yourself," Judge Cornwick ordered. She picked through the files the prosecutor had given her.

I swept my dark brown hair out of my gray eyes. "Dr. Cynthia Dawn PhD. Current psychologist for Beckfield Asylum." A few heads in the courtroom nodded in approval; I had been well known as one of the best criminal psychologists in the country a few years ago. Which is why I was here.

The judge motioned for the prosecutor to approach the bench and he stood and walked over to the witness stand. I immediately recognized him as Harvey Dent, Gotham's newest DA. I had always respected the man's work, though I didn't know him personally. He took time with his words. "Now Dr. Dawn, would you agree that the Joker's crimes, which range from child murder to terrorism, are vicious."

My eyes found the Joker again, who appeared to be paying no attention to the trial whatsoever. He was still humming under his breath. I followed his movements closely. "Yes," I agreed.

Dent, pleased I was complying, went on. "Would you say he is a danger to our society?"

The Joker started picking at his fingernails, which were still covered in dirt from the warehouse explosion. "Of course," I established, my gaze never leaving the man in question.

Dent started to turn away to address the jurors, for after the following question, he was prepared to announce what should be done about the clown menace. "And would you say the Joker is crazy enough to spend the rest of his days in Arkham Asylum, away from the city that he damages so?"

"No."

At my word, whispers erupted throughout the courtroom. Dent abruptly spun around to meet me with a confused expression. The judge slammed her gavel on the desk, demanding order. But what I was most intrigued by was the Joker's eyes, suddenly alert and curious, flicker to mine briefly before returning to the ceiling. I noticed the slight, almost undetectable stiffening of his posture. Ah-ah. I had thought so. He was listening after all.

Dent rounded on me. "You do not deem this man, who runs about the city in _clown make-up_, blowing up buildings, killing people, insane enough to be locked away?" His voice was incredulous. The courtroom was silent, waiting for my response.

I fingered my bracelet, which my best friend had given to me almost two decades ago, thoughtfully. "No, I believe this man is perfectly sane, and should be tried as such. If his crimes are worth death penalty or life in prison, then that is what his punishment should be."

Another breakout of chaos arose and the judge once again had to silence them. I noticed with satisfaction that the Joker had stopped humming. Judge Cornwick addressed me and I tore my gaze from the murderer and met the judge's disbelieving expression with a firm one. "Dr. Dawn, do you realize what you are saying? The Joker has been claimed clinically and criminally insane by dozens of psychiatrists, some of who are at your stature even. How can you declare something so outrageous after only a few minutes of watching him? You haven't even spoken with him!"

I raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised with the judge's outburst. "Your Honor, I only call it as I see it. I acknowledge that I may be wrong. However, it is my professional opinion that the Joker is only a very good actor."

A shrill giggle burst from the Joker's lips and all heads in the room turned to him. I waited expectantly for him to say something, but he remained silent. I sighed and turned to Dent. "And just what is it you propose, Dr. Dawn?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Further evaluation?" I suggested. "I believe the Joker must be evaluated until he is deemed, without doubt, as clinically insane. If he is not, then the consequences of his crimes should be enforced."

Judge Cornwick studied me profoundly, though she wasn't the only one. I could feel the Joker's eyes on me as well, but I forced myself to keep my gaze on the judge. "Then I rule that this case be put on hold _until_ proper evaluation of the Joker has taken place and verified. The evaluation will be held daily by Dr. Cynthia Dawn over a month period, in which we will proceed with the results. Until then, the Joker will be held at Arkham Asylum. Court is adjourned." She banged the gavel just as I was opening my mouth to object.

"Wait!" I cried out, jumping to my feet, but my words were drowned out by the crowds filing out of the courtroom and the Joker's malicious laughter as the bailiffs led him to the holding cell in the back. "Wait!" I shouted again at the judge as she stepped down from her podium. I rushed over to her, hastily pulling my purse over my shoulder. "I can't be the Joker's evaluator!" I protested. "I live over eight-hundred miles away! Just where am I supposed to stay?"

Judge Cornwick glanced at her watch as she gathered her files. "The court will pay for an apartment if you wish, Dr. Dawn. It shouldn't be too much of a problem."

My mouth nearly fell open. _Not too much of a problem?!_ "B-but what about my patients? Most need daily care! And my job!" I stammered, still absolutely in a state of disbelief.

She waved her hand about dismissively. "I am well associated with your boss, Dr. Martyrson. And I am sure there is someone who can cover for you. It is only a month. Maybe less if you can reach a verdict before then."

Images of my patients flashed through my mind. Most would only talk to me; it would undo years' worth of work if I wasn't around them for an entire thirty days! "You don't understand, Your Honor…My patients are very unstable. It would cause many serious relapses if they lose the consistency of seeing me everyday. I had to get up at three am this morning so I could fit in their appointments before I got to the airport. I cannot leave them!" When she hardly glanced at me, and after a moment's hesitation, I struggled for a new argument. "I do not evaluate with criminals anymore, Your Honor. I gave up that study a long time ago. I haven't even met with one in four years, since…" My words caught in my throat. "I do not even know if I am still qualified."

She gave me a sympathetic smile, and I felt the sudden urge to hit the judge, but I bit it back. I was very much in control of my impulses, a skill I had to have in my profession. Think first, act later.

I nearly lost it though when she reached out and grabbed my hands. Luckily, I was too taken aback by the gesture that I merely stiffened; I hate being touched. She met my eyes beseechingly. "Dr. Dawn, I know all about the incident, and I am sorry for your loss, but I don't think you understand the importance of this task. The Joker is one of the most wanted criminals _of all time_. Now that we have him, you cannot imagine how defeating it is to send him away to an Asylum, where he is bound to figure a way to escape." Her fingers tightened against my wrist and my hands started trembling. My mind could barely register anything other than the fact that her skin was in contact with mine. With every passing second, the sensation became more and more unbearable. _Let go of me…let go of me…let go of me_… was all my thoughts could muster. The room started to spin…

The judge noticed my discomfort and hesitantly released me, a look of perplexity etched in her features. "Is there something wrong Doctor?" he asked in concern. I managed a small shake of my head as I drew my hands away, pulling them out of reach. After a moment's suspicion, she continued. "But now you have challenged the reason that the Joker is being sent to an easy escape. If you are right, the Joker is on a one-way track to death row. So far, you are the only one who has contradicted what many psychologists have simply assumed. If you can find proof that the Joker is conscious of his actions, the courts will be able to finally bring justice." She added resignedly, "Of course, if he is indeed insane, then I suppose the best place for him is the Asylum and perhaps," she met my eyes carefully, "…you might be able to help him. You are a psychologist of course."

Even through my disgust at her touching me, I noticed the pleading in her voice. After analyzing her posture, expression, and words, I came knew that she truly thought I was their last hope. And I didn't like it, not at all.

Despite all rational and however useless I felt the whole thing was, or how frightened I was by the task ahead, I simply nodded and left the courtroom, still fuming at the position I had put myself in. I should've seen it coming, I really should have. Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut and let them put the damn clown in the nuthouse? No, I just _had_ to go and open my big mouth and tell everyone what was running through my mind. I blamed it on the Bible. It's the one that made me tell the truth.

As I got in my BMW, another train of thought floated through my mind. _This could actually be interesting…_ I remembered how intrigued I had been by the Joker, just with the few moments we had spent together in a courtroom. Like I had said, he was a marvelous actor. Only someone that had experienced someone so similar could spot those differences. My stomach squirmed. And had he not been so much like that _one_ patient, I might've actually been looking forward to the case. As I tore out of the parking lot, I felt the anxiety wrap itself around me. History would not repeat itself so long as I had a say in it.

So, review it please so I know whether to focus on this one or my HP one. Likewises, if you have seen this on quizilla, it is mine. Don't go screaming plagarizer. I'm the same writer.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi, I want to thank you all for the reviews and interest shown in the story. Sorry it has taken so long to get the second part out, but I will try to update more frequently. Enjoy!

"Yes, I should be back on the eighth…No, he should be fine. Just make sure you always start the conversation with '_How_ is it you want to talk today?' or else he won't say a word. It's a weird quirk he has, but just go with it. And as for Ariana, just don't look her directly in the eye and act like you are distracted with something, or else she'll think your listening…What?...Oh, just make sure you don't mention anything to do with bugs. He has a huge phobia and he'll go berserk." I listened to the frantic voice of Dr. Kendrid as she feverishly shot questions about every one of my patients. I could hear her scribbling what I said in the background. She was fairly new and very afraid of screwing things up. If she did a good job replacing me while I spent the month evaluating the Joker, she might get the promotion she always wanted.

I didn't bother smiling at the man who guarded the steel door to the patient's cells, simply flashing my pass and going through, my heels clicking, the sound bouncing off the walls. I was still miffed about having to do the whole thing in the first place. "Okay listen, Helen, I got to go. My appointment is going to begin. Good luck." Without waiting for a reply, I flipped the phone shut. It wasn't that I was bitter towards her, though I suppose I was a bit jealous that she got to do my job, work with my patients while I evaluated some murderer. Never, in the past four years at Beckfield (with the exception of the _incident_), had I missed a single appointment. Now I would be missing out on a month's worth, all because the government wanted _me_ specifically to tell them whether the clown was insane or not. Bloody hell, I had figured it out in as little as fifteen minutes in the courtroom with the guy. There has to be someone else with half a brain and a PhD to do this job.

My supervisor, Dr. Jonathan Crane, a good-looking man in his late-twenties, met with me in his office. We briefly went over the Joker's profile and he handed me forms and a few tapes. Afterward, he led me to a small room, which would be my office. It was half the size of my own at Beckfield, but that was okay. I would only be working with one patient, and this was only temporary. I set down my box, filed with my books, studies, and other files I thought would help with the case. "You have about an hour to review those tapes and the information before you are scheduled to have a contained session with the Joker. The session will only last one hour, because let me warn you now: He is very good at mind games. Previously, he has driven numerous psychologists to their breaking point; so if there is anytime at all during the session you feel overwhelmed, don't hesitate to leave. You will meet with him twice a day, to fill the two-hour-a-day quota the court demanded. Any questions?"

I shook my head, and he left me to stuff a tape into an old VCR. Absently, I watched as the screen flickered to life. There was something I didn't like about Dr. Crane. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I trusted it. Usually my gut feelings were right, as if my subconscious had picked up on something that reason couldn't digest. Eventually, it would play out, but until then, I would keep my distance from Crane.

An hour later, I knew everything I needed to know about the Joker and more. But I was disturbed. There were moments where I could sense the sanity in him; no matter how twisted it was, it was there. But then there were times that he was just as crazy as the next Arkham patient. I wasn't sure what to label him.

I waved off the guard at the door and slid my entrance card into the slot. The red light above the door flickered to green and the steel door opened. I stepped in, resisting the urge to shield my eyes. The room was unbearably bright with overbearing fluorescent lights and luminous white walls. I hated bright places almost as much as I hated being touched. Would it look odd if I wore sunglasses for the next session?

The only source of color in the room was the Joker himself. He was even more scuffed up than the last time I had seen him. Most of his make-up had been smudged off, but instead of giving a more clarifying view of his face, it distorted it. The scars were far more visible and my interest peaked as I wondered where they came from. He was dressed in the usual Arkham attire: white jumpsuit. His dark eyes followed me as I made my way to the desk.

The room was split in two, divided by thick, bulletproof glass. The Joker's side was bare, with the exception the chair that he was handcuffed to. My side was similar, although I had a small desk to place my files on.

I sat lazily, setting the folders down neatly. There was a moment of silence as I simply observed the Joker, trying to read him though his posture. Presently, I got the feeling he didn't care.

I broke the silence with a strong, though detached voice. "What do you live by?" He raised an eyebrow and I clarified. "What set of codes, not necessarily morals, do you act by? What's your _motto_?" I leaned back in my chair, letting myself assume the laid back posture. It was always best with his types to act as if I couldn't care less whether he answered or not. But he would answer. I had marked him as someone who liked to be heard. How could he mess with my mind if he didn't speak?

It turns out I was right. He wetted his lips thoughtfully. "It changes from day to day," he answered finally, knowing my next question.

I asked it anyways. "And what is today's?"

His grin grew malicious. "Curiosity killed the cat." I couldn't help but smirk. Now I remembered why working with the criminally insane had always been my passion. They are just so much more _interesting_ than the others.

"And the day you blew up that building? What was it then?"

Had he been able, he would've stroked his chin. "I ah, believe it went along the lines of the Big Bang Theory…"

He was trying to plant the suggestion of multiple persona in my mind. He clearly wanted me to think he was insane. Oh yes, he was good. Too bad I was better.

After another moment of silence, I suddenly sat upright in my chair. "I'll bet you like games, Joker?" I let excitement flood my actions and voice. I wanted to change that 'I don't give a damn' posture he was carrying.

He rolled his eyes. "If this is one of those 'you ask a question and I answer' sort of games, you're in for a disappointment."

I let a small smile play on my lips. "Not exactly."

He met my eyes for an unnaturally long time before saying, "What are the rules?"

Although the intensity of his gaze unsettled me, I kept the eye contact. I'm naturally competitive. "No rules, except one: You must lie. That's it. Let's play it like the rest of the world plays it: with lies. In fact, that is a fabulous name for the game: The Lying Game. Now I start. Ready?" Ah, there it was: a twitch of his fingers. He was interested after all.

He nodded. "Okay, my first question is this: Have you ever killed by _accident_?" I noticed in satisfaction that he leaned forward a little. I saw the curiosity flicker in his eyes. I had his attention.

He smirked. "Yes. My granny was in a mall when I blew it up." He dissolved into a fit of giggles. Meanwhile, I translated it into the truth: No, he had never killed by accident.

Well, either that or it was just the story about his grandmother that was untrue. That was the problem with this game, too many open options, so I just had to trust my gut. "My turn!" he squealed and made to clap his hands, but was prevented of this by the handcuffs. He glared down at them, his lip twitching in annoyance. "Have you ever been handcuffed?" he suddenly asked.

I settled back and folded my arms, appreciative of the fact I could do so. "Nope," I lied. "Been pure as driven snow since birth." He finally turned his attention away from the handcuffs and to me, a menacing smile on his face. It made me slightly uncomfortable, but I was careful not to show it.

I thought for a moment. "What is more satisfying: watching someone die slowly, or watching their mind crumble?"

I didn't like whatever flashed through his eyes. After wetting his lips, he answered sinisterly, "Watching someone die." I wasn't naïve as to what he was hinting at. I saw the threat behind those words. But of course, he had just provided me with something incredibly useful.

He was a manipulator.

And manipulators are always the best actors. He had just moved himself one notch in the sane scale, and one step closer to death penalty. However, a few seconds later, he randomly started giggling again. Okay, one notch back down.

I gestured, as it was his turn, and he opened his mouth to ask a question, but was interrupted when the steel door swung open. In stepped a woman with beautiful golden hair, pale brown eyes, and full lips. Panic flitted through her pretty features as her gaze fell on me. She didn't even bother glancing at the Joker. "Dr. Dawn, I need to speak with you for a moment," she announced, her voice slightly shaking. I stood in surprise. No one was allowed in the room while an evaluation was taking place. I crossed the room, the Joker grumbling about how he was missing his turn, and approached the girl. She leaned in to whisper something to me, laying her hand on my shoulder as she did so. I couldn't repress the flinch that came with the gesture. Suddenly realizing what I had just done, I glanced over at the Joker, praying he hadn't seen.

The look on his face told me he had. _Shit shit shit shit…_

That was the worst thing I could've done. That small movement had given away one of my biggest fears, which is something that should be kept a secret at all costs when dealing with people like the Joker. I forced myself to tear my gaze from the clown and focus on what the girl was saying, trying to keep my thought away from the fact she was still touching me…

Her words though immediately blocked out anything that my mind happened to possess. "Dr. Dawn, there has been a threat on your life. The police need to speak with you right away." My throat went dry. Who would be threatening my life? _His _horrible face appeared in my mind's eye. No it couldn't be…he was locked away, hundreds of miles from here…

Again, I made a second mistake for the session: I let my emotions show. Briefly, for no longer than a few seconds, my face held the terror I felt at the thought of _him_ returning. I had just broken one of my biggest rules.

I noted the Joker licked his lips in interest. I refused to think about him right now. There were far more pressing matters.

So, without a second thought, I gently shrugged off the woman's hand, forcing back a cringe as I did so, and addressed the Joker hurriedly, "Hey, it turns out that we're going to have to continue our game a little later. Get some good lies ready." Without waiting for a response, I followed the woman out of the room, the steel door shutting behind me. She led me to a large meeting room, where about three cops were gathered, along with an older man with a heavy mustache, thick glasses, and small frame. I vaguely recognized him as the new Commissioner, Golden or Gamen or something. The woman that had led me to the room left, closing the door behind her.

The Commissioner's expression was grim as he introduced himself. "Dr. Dawn, I'm Commissioner Gordon from the Gotham Law Enforcement Department. We need to have a word with you."

My fingers had gone strangely numb. I struggled to keep my voice steady. "What is this about, Commissioner?" Oh God, please don't say what I think he's going to say…"

Gordon sighed and lifted a small remote, which was for the projector screen in on the far wall. "This morning there was a small break-out at the Yorkshire Psychiatric Institution. Only one patient made it out." The projector screen flickered to an image that made my blood run cold. The familiar eyes were bearing down at me.

It was _him._


	3. Chapter 3

"So, Cyn-th-ia…" The Joker coaxed my name into several syllables, as if he was tasting it. After a moment of apparent deep thought, he wrinkled his nose. "I don't like it. It sounds like a Barbie."

I don't bother looking up from my files. Although I was supposed to be studying the Joker, I was burying myself in another patient's files. A patient that escaped just days ago. "As I recall, Barbie's name is Barbie, not Cynthia," I commented dismissively, not really paying attention. This had been agitating the Joker, so he had taken to criticizing every detail that he knew about me. Apparently, my name was now the object of his scrutiny.

He shook his head, still a look of slight disgust on his face. "Cyn-th-ia…" he tried again, as if trying to find hidden meaning behind it. "Cyn-th-ia…Cyn…Sin!" He snapped his fingers, which was the only gesture of revelation he could manage in the handcuffs. "You alright if I call you Sin, Barbie?" he inquired, as though he was asking permission. Normally, I would have been amused at the thought of someone like the Joker asking permission to do anything.

"Whatever floats your boat, Joker," I told him absently, pursing my lips at the horror of the file I had been staring at for days. The gruesome renderings of a picture making my skin crawl. I recalled the disgust I had felt when my poor eyes had first laid on it.

_Three days ago…_

"_Daniel Dew escaped from his holding cell at the Yorkshire Psychiatric Institution at precisely 8:24 a.m. this morning. We don't have much to go on as far as how he managed this, for he destroyed all video evidence. But we can guess from the crime scene that he managed to get out of his cell and kill three guards. There were signs of a struggle, so it is possible that he is deeply injured," one of the cops recited, as was his duty. He kept his hands behind his back, and subconsciously I wondered why I hadn't gone into police work. All saluting, no one touches anyone. Meanwhile, I was spiraling._

_The Commissioner grunted and admitted, "Though, Dr. Dawn, he couldn't have been too grievously injured, because the crime scene he left behind was…well, quite unnecessary for escape." He clicked the remote to the projector once more, and a new image replaced that of the man's face._

_I stifled a gasp. There were three bodies nailed up to the walls and holding hands. It immediately reminded me of people holding hands on a hill against the rising sun. Blood had pooled on the ground, but if that wasn't sick enough, the murderer had drawn, in blood, water-drops on their faces, arms, and any open skin. Above their heads, it read WITH THE DAWN COMES DEW in red. I shuddered away from the phrase. God no, he was coming for me. Not again. This can't be happening…_

_The Commissioner cleared his throat, breaking me from my reverie. "I know that this might be hard to think about after…last time, but I'm going to need your cooperation in this case. We have every reason to believe you will be very directly connected to Daniel Dew's plans. It is for your best interests that you tell us all you can about this man and for protocol protection allow us place your home under surveillance until he is caught…"_

The Joker was giggling. "Now, _who _did _that_?" he questioned giddily. Aghast, I glanced down to find that the folder had slipped from my fingers and was now splayed on the desk in plain sight. Hastily, I scrambled to close it. Never would I have been so careless. Already, I was losing control, and Daniel hadn't even reached me yet.

And yes, there wasn't a doubt in my mind that he would reach me. Daniel was cunning, and when his mind was set, he was like a steamroller, barreling through everything in his path to get what he wants. In fact, I was surprised he was taking this long. I did remember the words he once told me:_ 'I'm a very patient man, pet.' _Flinching away from the memory, I reverted my attention to the Joker, whose eyes were curious and his expression amused. Already, this man knew more about me than most people. All of it my fault.

"Just a case that caught my attention," I answered numbly. I couldn't even manage to feel ashamed of myself. My emotional level hadn't moved past the shock in the past few days.

The Joker chuckled, narrowing his dark eyes. "Are we still playing the Lying Game? Because I thought we discontinued that a few sessions ago."

I frowned. "I'm not lying. I'm just not telling the truth. There is a difference. You, of all people, should know that." I took the folder back into my hands, not even able to find it in me to be worried about the Joker's knowledge; I was too distracted. There had been no news about anything Daniel had been up to, so either he was keeping a low profile until he struck (and he _would_ strike), or he was somehow injured and unable to put his schemes into action. My nerves had been stretched out for the past three days, ready and willing to snap like rubber bands.

Plus, I was fuming at still being here. After the news of Daniel's escape, I had demanded that the court order be uplifted or at least held off until Daniel was captured again. But imagine my frustration when after nearly an hour of arguing with Crane, the judge, and just about anyone with the authorial power to release me from the job, I was sent back defeated, to continue my sessions with the Joker.

The Joker ignored my comment. "Who did it?" he repeated sinisterly. "An old patient?" he guessed, again absently tugging on his restraints, his dark eyes intent on my face, gauging me for a reaction. His words struck a nerve, and I felt myself visibly stiffen, despite my silent pleas against it. That was all he needed for an answer. He giggled shrilly, nearly bouncing with the anticipation. "Oooh! I sense a good story! Let's make this session sharing time!" He wetted his lips excitedly. I could hardly blame him. This was probably the most interesting thing he had experienced in his past few days at Arkham. If there was one thing I knew about Asylums, it is that they are incredibly _dull_, which usually makes my job a lot easier, because then I am the only interaction that they have besides themselves and those white walls.

Except this time. This was definitely not making my job easier. In fact, I was starting to grow anxious with the attention. Of course, it was only natural, but I was still wary. After Daniel, I didn't want interest from a killer. I returned to examining the picture. "Perhaps another day, Joker. Our time is almost up."

I was startled to see the Joker jump up and attempt to rip out of his restraints, laughing hysterically. "No, no no! You cannot start a story and not end it! Where is the fun in that?" he screeched at me, feverishly trying to stand straight. For a split second, I almost empathized with him; I knew the frustration of trying to stand, but something keeps pulling you down.

The door to his side of the room burst open, and two bulky men started inside, preparing to hold the Joker down and take him back to his cell. The camera must've picked up on the Joker's sudden hostility and sent men to end the session early.

I eyed the Joker with interest. Here was one of those moments where I doubted my theory of his sanity and acting skills. The Joker didn't even pause his struggle, even when the two men roughly grabbed him by the arms to contain him. I cleared my throat, and when it was unheeded, said loudly, "Hold on." The three looked at me, momentarily pausing. I held up a hand, the universal sign for 'back off'. When the guards didn't adhere, I glared at them. "Things are under control here. You needn't make him leave. Our session is yet to be over." I glanced and nodded at the camera in the corner of the room, ascertaining that the message was also for those who had sent the guards in the first place.

A few seconds later, the walkie-talkie clipped to one of the guards belt bleeped and a static ridden order filled the room. "Leave him be, boys." I couldn't help but smirk as the guards reluctantly released the Joker and filed out of the room.

The Joker giggled giddily, any previous frustration or anger apparently forgotten. "Didn't know you liked spending time with me so much, Sin," he snickered, sitting back down. I rolled my eyes and put the Daniel's file in my bag, glancing at my watch. I would have a few minutes to work with the madman. I fleetingly regretted not using up this time on what I was supposed to be doing: assessing the Joker. After all, I only met with him for two hours a day, and he was my only patient. I could stare at the damn photo for the other twenty-two hours a day.

"Well Joker, I could ask the same of you. Why are _you_ still here? Rumor has it that you usually don't stay here long enough to sample Friday's Mystery Meat," I retorted, actually wanting to know. The Joker must have some plan for escape.

His eyes were gleaming darkly as he hissed, "Some little Barbie got in my way." His smile grew menacing. "But don't worry, I'm a wonderful improviser."

I narrowed my gaze suspiciously; it was obviously a threat. Was it an empty threat though? It would be the Joker's nature to say something just to unsettle me. This was too much right now. I couldn't deal with the puzzle that is the Joker and Daniel at the same time. I rubbed my temples. "I should've let them take you," I groaned wearily.

The Joker sniggered. "You know Sin, I'm going to have fun with you. _A lot_ of fun. But we'll have to play our little game out first. That's okay though. I'm a _very_ patient man."

_I'm a very patient man…That sounds so familiar…_

Oh, no. No, no, no, no…

Was it a sign? Did this mean that the Joker was following in Daniel's pattern of behavior? If so, this was definitely not good.

Or more specifically, not good for _me._


	4. Chapter 4

Boy, you guys are lucky I'm sick and have nothing better to do than post. Here's the next chapter! Enoy!

Third Person POV

A pair of intent eyes watched a slender, blonde figure as it sloshed through the wet parking lot, her high heels clicking against the blacktop. She hastened to her car and fumbled with the keys. The streetlight illuminated her skittish expression as she glanced about. She could feel his eyes on her.

This was his chance. He strolled towards her, from behind the SUV he had been peering. His feet were soundless as he approached her. Oblivious to his presence, she accidentally dropped her keys. He was pleased to see her hands were shaking slightly. Bending down to retrieve them, she let out a small scream when she saw his legs. She shot up, her keys still abandoned, holding a hand to her heart. He could practically hear it leaping out of her chest. It gave him a shiver of delight. Her surprised expression faded as she recognized who it was. "Oh God, it's just you," she said in relief. "I thought I heard someone…"

The man stuffed his hands in his pockets, slouching with easy grace. "Sorry about that," he apologized, without a trace of guilt. "I couldn't stop thinking about you after last night, Tabitha, so I thought maybe I would catch you before you left work to see if you wanted to get a drink or two with me." He took a step forward; so that he was close enough to see the goose bumps on her skin, hear her ragged breathing. It was all so delicious. Of course, not nearly as delicious as _her…_

Although her expression was friendly, her green eyes betrayed her. There was a certain uneasiness that flickered through them. "I'm sorry, but I really can't. Being a weathergirl means I have a lot of work to do." She laughed, but he could tell it was forced. "Maybe some other time. I'll tell you what. I'll call you, how does that sound?" But he saw through the lie. She wouldn't call him; once people got past his dangerous good looks, they always saw the eerie air he had about him. He crept her out, like he did everyone else. Except _her…_

Something sinister flashed through those cold eyes. Quicker than she could blink, he had gripped her arm and shoved her against the door of her car, a knife to her throat. He was pleased to see the fear overcome her features. This, he decided, made her more beautiful than she already was. There was something so attractive about that vulnerability of being afraid. It made him want to take it and rip it apart. "Okay then," he hissed and she started trembling. "I have a different idea. Why don't we find out what you're made of? Literally."

Her blood-curdling screams echoed through the parking lot, accompanied by the sickening sounds of flesh being torn. After a minute or two they both stopped, and the man whistled lazily a tune, a tune that reminded him of _her_. It had been their song.

_Don't worry, pet. We'll be together once more._

Back to Cynthia's POV

"Mum and Dad were always so pleased with Harvey. It's always Harvey this and Harvey that! Do they even realize that he only has to deal with the wackjobs for fifteen minutes in the courtroom? Do they think that they simply disappear after that? No! Then I have to deal with them!" the Doctor groaned, still in a rant. The Doctor, Dr. Rebekah Dent, the same girl who had told me about the police needing to see me, was apparently Harvey Dent's sister. And it seems she has a bit of a bone to pick with him.

I surveyed her distraught appearance with an amused expression. My own parents having passed on when I was sixteen and being an only child, I never had to deal with sibling rivalry. "Then let's make a toast." I lifted my glass and she followed suit, sloshing her beer about a bit. It turns out that she got tipsy after only two drinks, while I had a better tolerance for it and was on my third, hardly feeling its affects. "To the crazies we work with. Maybe someday we'll be driven to join them." She added a 'here, here!' and drank deeply. I put my own down without touching it. I wasn't much in the mood for alcohol.

Rebekah had caught me before I left work and asked if I wanted to grab some food and maybe get a few drinks. She said she knew I had just moved here and maybe I wanted a friend. I had agreed, firstly because I genuinely liked the girl, and second because I needed to loosen up. Daniel had been on my mind constantly, and it was starting to affect my work. My slipups with the Joker were becoming more constant. I needed to do something, stop being so tense. And it was almost working. Rebekah was an excellent distraction, for she did most the talking, which suited me fine.

Of course, all my concerns rushed back not a minute later. I had been absently watching the TV screen perched on the wall at the end of the bar. It was just the news, nothing incredible. The sound wasn't even loud enough for me to hear. The bartender, who had been watching, set down the glass he'd been cleaning and went to turn it up. "Weather should start in just a minute," he explained to me, when I saw that I had been observing. "I'm thinking of going up to the lake this weekend. Hopefully it aint gonna rain." The volume shot up so I could hear. I vaguely tuned in to what they were saying, mostly because the guy that was talking was kind of cute.

"…seem to be missing our weathergirl, so we'll bring you over to Donna Happiwoods for this week's forecast. Donna?" The scene changed to show a tall brunette, who wore a huge fake smile. Behind her was a green screen, though nothing was showing on it.

"Thanks Tom. Tomorrow we might be getting some leftover rain from Thursday, but this weekend should be…what?" She pressed her finger to her earpiece before turning to look at the green screen. "Excuse me folks, but we seem to be experiencing a couple technical difficulties. I'm sure we'll be up and running in just a moment…" A few men walked into the picture and started lifting the green screen. "We'll just take you back over to Tom in the meantime…" She stopped mid-sentence to let out a horrifying shriek. I froze at what I saw.

Behind the green screen was a body, so mangled and torn apart that it hardly looked human. The limbs were in awkward positions, splayed almost carelessly. The only way to distinguish that it was female was the mop of long blond hair, which was matted with blood. The 'face' of the victim was bashed in and so distorted that it was a wonder they recognized her. "It's Rayne!" one of the men who had lifted the green screen shouted. "It's our weathergirl! Someone call the police! And turn those cameras off!"

If someone had tried to do so, I would never know because the studio went dark and the TV echoed the screams of many people. The green screen, which had been dropped, flickered to life. My breath caught in my throat. It was a message, which once again was written with a thick red.

_ HER BLOOD WASN'T AS WONDERFUL AS YOURS, PET_

The fear prickled my skin. My fingers went numb. Oh God, it was starting. Tears threatened to fill my eyes, but I forced them back. He wasn't just going to find me and do well…whatever it was that he planned to do with me. No, he was going to taunt me, drive me until I crack, _then_ he would come to pick up the pieces. He was going to play the game before he got the prize. Oh God no…

"How horrible! I wonder who would do something like that?" Rebekah commented, slurring a bit, from beside me. She nudged me, and I flinched away from her touch, "I guess we'll find out eventually eh? No doubt they'll be sending the nutcase over to us." I wasn't even listening, too consumed in my own thoughts. I knew how his mind worked; I had spent months analyzing it. This was only the beginning. He was going to keep killing until he knew that I was completely broken with anxiety and guilt, and then he would move in for the kill. The TV screen switched to nothing but static. I held my head in my hands. The room was starting to spin.

It didn't help matters when Rebekah reached out a comforting hand and laid it on my shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked, genuine concern in her voice. I stuttered on my words; I wasn't allowed to tell anyone that I was connected to Daniel Dew. Luckily, I was saved from both answering and trying to figure out how to get her hand off me when my cell rang. I quickly stood up, her hand dropping to her side, and plucked my phone from my purse.

The bar had suddenly become very loud, what with what had happened on the TV, so I had to press my finger to my other ear to hear. "Hello?"

I immediately recognized the Commissioner's frantic voice. "Dr. Dawn, where are you? Who are you with?"

I bit my lip. "I'm at the Bronco's Bar on Thirty-third Street with a fellow colleague. Why?"

"Did you see the news?" he asked intently. My stomach lurched at the memory.

"Yes," I choked out. I would never forget the mangled body of Tabitha Rayne. Or those words, which were still echoing in my mind: _Her blood wasn't as wonderful as yours pet…_

"You need to get to your apartment straightaway!" he commanded, but revised a second later. "No, just stay there. I'll have one of my men pick you and your colleague up. Stay put and don't talk to anyone. My officer will be named Hank Davidson. Do not leave with anyone else." I didn't even have time to reply for he had hung up.

After a second or two of trying to absorb the information, I went back over to where Rebekah was still sitting, waiting expectantly. How was I going to explain this one? "What was that all about?" she asked in puzzlement. "Jeez, are you okay Cynthia? You look like shit."

I swallowed hard and tried to appear relaxed. It was difficult. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just…well, my friend works at the station, and he started flipping out over the whole newscast thing, so he's sending one of his buddies to come pick me up. He said he'd take you home as well. He gets paranoid sometimes, you understand; being an officer in a city like Gotham will do that to you."

After a few seconds of suspicion, she seemed to accept that. "Okay, that's fine. I suppose it's for the best. I can't afford to have a hangover at work tomorrow anyways, and I have a feeling I've already crossed my limits." She laughed good-naturedly. I truly liked the woman, even if she did do the comforting touch too much. Somehow, I would have to break her of that habit.

It wasn't ten minutes later when an officer entered the bar and introduced himself as Officer Hank Davidson. He led us out to his police cruiser. The whole way across the parking lot, I felt as if someone was watching me. I attempted to shake off the feeling; surely I was just hyped up. Nevertheless, I lay wide awake all that night; unable to fight off the irrepressible dread that something bad was going to happen.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm sorry this is so short. Special shout out to HoistTheColors!

"Hey, I wanna know something."

I looked up at the Joker warily, putting my pen down. "Er…okay?" I said suspiciously. "Shoot."

The Joker seemed frustrated. "Why haven't you asked about my scars yet? We've been seeing each other for what, six days? And nadda. That's always been the first question every other psych I've had has asked." He wetted his lips, which were newly painted in red. Earlier that morning, while I had still been asleep, I was awoken by a phone call. Apparently the Joker had thrown a huge fit wanting new make-up, and they called me to ask if it was okay for his mental health to do so. I had given them permission. It probably wasn't the best thing to give him what he wanted, like rewarding a kid who throws tantrums with candy, but I really didn't care about helping his mental health. I was there to see whether he was sane or not and move on, not try and help the maniac.

I folded my arms behind my head, relieved it wasn't something I didn't want to answer, and shrugged. "I don't honestly care," I told him. It was a lie; I was very curious as to how he got them, but it was irrelevant to my case. "I'm here to evaluate you on your _current_ mental status, not delve into your past. I don't really care _why_ you do the things you do, just whether you are aware of them as you do them. Besides, if I asked you would bullshit me. And frankly, I don't have the patience for bullshit today."

Something, I couldn't figure out what though, flickered in his features. I didn't like that I didn't know what it was. I'm supposed to be able to read everything about a person. He chuckled and leaned towards me. "You know Sin, there are very few people like us out there. People that understand people. You and I know when we look at a person everything about them. We know what drives them, what gets to them, and what breaks them." He sat back in his chair again; looking relaxed, though his gaze was intent on my face. "It's too bad that you have misplaced your talents, letting them fester in this hellhole, when there is so much _more_ that you could do. Why take on the minds that are already twisted, when you can twist them yourself?"

I wasn't sure what to make of this little speech. How do I reply to something like that? Was he trying to get into my mind and mould it to be that of a villain's? Should I leave? Crane had said that if I ever feel overwhelmed…No, I've dealt with worse than this? I'm one of the best for God's sake! Where did my spine go? "Because people are no fun when they're _ordinary_. What's so special about some accountant's mind or some schoolteacher's? Nothing. But a mind like _yours,_ Joker…That's a different story." Hopefully he would think that the subject was nearing dangerous waters and change it.

I never got to find out, for the door opened and the guards came in to take to Joker back to his cell. Our session was over. I thanked the Heavens for the brilliant timing. But my stomach dropped again when while the Joker was being taken out, his eyes never left me, looking perplexed. I forced myself not to be reminded of Daniel. That was how it all began with him, with the fascination with my mind. And then once he couldn't figure it out he wanted to break it, so he could analyze the shattered remains. I hoped that this interest of the Joker's was just a phase. I don't think I could handle another obsessed madman.

"You knew Daniel Dew well, didn't you?" the Commissioner asked me wearily. The bags under his eyes told me that he had been working on this case for days and nights. And the fact that he was coming to me for answers was just proof that so far things were turning up fruitless. We were in the Commissioner's stuffy office, where he had asked me to meet him.

I folded my arms across my chest uneasily. "I was his primary psychiatrist for about four months. I probably knew him better than anyone." This subject made me want to storm out of the room and hide under my bed until it all went away. I had just spent the last four years trying to forget what had happened, and now he was going to rip into my old scars, forcing me to relive things I never wanted to think about again. Nevertheless, I understood the importance of giving him any information I had on the murderer. Gotham was all in danger with a man like that on the streets, and anything I knew that could help him find Daniel might be useful.

The Commissioner pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking curious. "_Primary_? You mean he had more than one psychiatrist?"

I rolled my eyes. "Of course he did. He was in several classes for anger management, abuse control, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and several others. It isn't uncommon for some patients to have more than one caregiver. Of course, he didn't need most of those classes, but through following Daniel's patterns in behavior, we were able to predict which mental and emotional problems he was likelier to develop. Putting him in those classes was a way to try to stop them from occurring ahead of time." My gut twisted. We had it all wrong, all wrong. If we hadn't experimented with this little theory, Daniel might be as 'normal' as the next crazy. Instead we put him around people to study, thus feeding that desire to get into peoples' heads.

The Commissioner's interest sparked. "And can we speak to any of those caregivers? Perhaps they might have an insight on how to control this man."

My expression darkened. "No, you cannot. They are all dead. He killed them when he escaped four years ago. And trust me, if they had any insight of how to control him, then they would still be with us today." I lowered my head; the grief I had swallowed so long ago was slowly flooding back into the false reality I had built up for myself. I had been close to many of them. As a professional observer of the mind, I knew that I had never really come to terms with all those deaths so long ago, one in particular…I struggled to remember the face…

The Commissioner had the decency to appear grim and allow a moment of respect before hammering me with the next question. "Then why is it that you are still alive?" he inquired.

I fixed my gaze on the Commissioner until I saw him squirm uncomfortably. I wanted his full attention for this next answer. "Because I know people, Commissioner. And because Daniel _thought_ he knew people. When Daniel couldn't understand me, he became obsessed with trying to figure out my mind. And eventually this grew to become simply an obsession _of_ me. When he escaped those many years ago, he made it his private dedication to understand me, and once he did, he would be able to do whatever he liked with me, make me to be any person he wanted. Because you see, Commissioner, once you understand how a person works, you can prod at them in just the right ways until they become someone totally different."

I felt my eyes glaze over as the memories flashed through my thoughts. That dark room…That bright light…That touch…That horrific song…I shuddered, suddenly feeling nauseous, but I forced myself to continue on. "But after…" I couldn't bring myself to describe the events that followed Daniel's escape and my capture. "…after certain incidents Daniel was still stumped. I still confused him, and he didn't like that, not at all. So he figured it would be best to end me."

The Commissioner was listening with rapt attention, but I had forgotten he was there, too absorbed in my own thoughts and reminiscing. "But that is where understanding him came in handy. Now, I'm not entirely sure if is possible to truly understand someone as twisted as he is, but I think I am the only one who has came close. After about two weeks since he had escaped, I had convinced him against killing me and managed to get word out to police. He was arrested and sent back to the Yorkshire Institute within twenty-four hours on life-sentence."

There was silence as the Commissioner allowed me time to regain control over myself. But even as he gave his next question, my hands were trembling. "Dr. Dawn, I recognize how incredibly painful it must be to talk about these sorts of things, but I have to ask. What should we be expecting from Daniel Dew?" Although the breath I drew in was shaky, my voice was firm as I answered his question:

"Hell, Commissioner. Expect hell."


	6. Chapter 6

This is a flippin long chapter, so _you're_ _welcome_ in advance. ;)

"You've gotta be bloody kidding me."

Dr. Crane shook his head. "No, Dr. Dawn. I do not kid about these sorts of things. It is dictated by the court order that you must perform a full evaluation of the Joker, and this is a requirement of an evaluation."

"But _inkblots_? That is so 60s! Plus, I have my own way of doing things. I haven't used inkblots on a patient since med. school…" I stared down in disgust at the file Dr. Crane held out to me. I mean, _seriously_! Inkblots were one of the most unreliable tests when it comes to the criminally insane. They lie; it is in their nature, which is why the Lying Game is so much more productive.

Dr. Crane sighed. "Yes, Dr. Dawn, I understand. But I also don't care. You will perform the test on the Joker, or I cannot say that you have fulfilled the quota the judge demanded."

"Fine." Fuming, I grabbed the folder from him and mumbled profanities under my breath, storming out of the room.

After gaining entrance to the interrogation room (as I liked to call it) where I meet with the Joker, I burst into the room and shoved the chair aside for me to sit in. I slammed the folder on the table and crossed my arms. I cannot pinpoint exactly why I was so furious, maybe it was because I was so frustrated with the lack of results the police were having with Daniel and I was taking it out on this, but I didn't care.

The Joker noted my mood with interest, bouncing his leg up and down energetically. "Why so pissy, Sin?" he asked, glancing at the manila folder. I could read his thoughts. He was wondering what was in it and why it was making me so angry.

I sent him a mockingly fake smile. "Who says I'm pissy? I'm freaking peachy," I spat, not really up for his cracks at the moment. The Joker chucked at my tone.

He leaned back as much as he could, being handcuffed to the chair, as always. "Then what's on the agenda today, Doc?"

"Inkblots," I growled, reluctantly opening the folder and taking out several sheets of paper, all decorated with lovely little splatters of ink. The Joker started howling with laughter.

"_Inkblots_? Oh yes, this will be fun." I glared at him for a second before shuffling the papers until they were orderly. He noticed that the folder was alone on the desk. "Aren't you going to record my answers?" he asked, the curiosity evident in his voice.

I scoffed. "Please! What's the point? Besides, the court order says I just have to perform the test. They didn't say I had to actually evaluate your answers."

The Joker, amused at my mutinous behavior, snickered. "How you gonna spice up the lesson, Doc?" Funny how he knew exactly what had been going through my mind; I had been wondering how I could change this little test into something actually useful.

I thought in silence for a minute. "Okay, I think I got something," I announced finally. "Instead of telling me what you see in them, I want you to tell me whether or not you would rearrange the spots. You don't have to tell me how, or why, just whether or not you would. Okay?"

The Joker absorbed this with inquisitiveness. "Okay," he replied, after a second's hesitation. I guessed the meaning behind it. He was uneasy why I would want to know that, and what sort of doors I would be unlocking in his mind through this test. But he would answer truthfully; oh yes he would.

I held up the first inkblot. It was a chaotic mess of paint slashes. "It's fine," he told me. I nodded and showed him another. This one was the same as the last, chaotic and messy. "It's fine," he repeated. Then another. It was an orderly situation of dots, neat and without smudges of any kind. The Joker studied it. "I would rearrange that," he finally answered. I quickly went through the stack and he always answered yes to the orderly ones and no to the ones with smudges.

The message was clear: He liked chaos.

This I already knew. But what I wanted to know was whether he truly thought like that, if he saw the orderly code of everything and felt the need to change that, or if this religion of chaos was really a sham, a cover for the sanity to hide under. One of the characteristics of being insane is viewing the world differently than other and acting in accord. By answering subconsciously in a way different from others, he had just gotten closer to saving his own neck.

I very slowly replaced the inkblots into the folder, absorbed in my thoughts, and for the first time in days, they weren't on Daniel.

They were on the Joker.

Little did I know that three hours later, that was going to change completely.

I was in my car at the time, flipping through the stations. I finally settled on the voice of a woman, whom was in the middle of talking about obsessive partners. I settled back in my seat, being stuck in rush hour traffic. Being at a complete stop, I didn't really have anything to concentrate on besides her voice.

Funny how then her voice was beautiful, the perfect candidate for a radio talk show host. You could tell her attitude about everything. If I couldn't speak English, I would have still understood exactly she was trying to say with a voice like that.

"Let's face it, an obsessive partner just isn't attractive," she announced, her tone relaxed. This was her comfort zone. "It is awkward knowing that another person wants to know everything about you, that you occupy their thoughts all the time. This is one of the top reasons people break up today. Tonight, we are going to discuss the difference between clingy and obsessive, how to identify a companion that has these qualities, and what to do about it."

I sighed, as traffic picked up a little and then brought me to another stop, and mustered a yawn. I had been suffering from a slight case of insomnia since Daniel had escaped. "Also, how do you avoid becoming clingy? It often happens that we become so afraid of losing someone that we end up pushing him or her away. Give your partner some space. Let them live a life other than being with you."

A car honked behind me, and I flipped him off. _It wasn't like I could go anywhere…_ "Now we are going to take some callers. Caller number one, you're talking with Sammy McGuff of Sway 95.7."

A few people called, mostly females wondering whether their boyfriends were too possessive or not. After the third call, it started to get redundant, so just as she was announcing that this would be the final call I put my fingers to the dial with the full intention of turning the station.

But then a voice came on the air that made my blood run cold. "Yes," it said, silky and persuasive, just how I remembered it. "I think I might be one of those obsessive type…"

The girl, Sammy, gave an understanding, "I see, and tell me about this girl."

Oh my God. My hands were shaking as I punched the numbers for the police on my cell phone. He was going to do something; I could feel it in my gut. Someone was in danger, though I didn't know how or whom. What was he _doing_? What was he planning? Frantically, I turned the volume up so I could hear better.

His voice, oh God that voice, filled my car. "Well, she is just perfect. We haven't seen each other in a while, and I've missed her so much…but I have a feeling we'll be together again real soon."

Sammy, who was oblivious to just how dangerous the man she was talking to was, seemed politely interested. "Uh-huh. Why don't you tell me about her?"

My breath caught in my throat. I could practically see his lips curl into a smile. I became conscious of blaring horns, and I glanced at the road to see that traffic had moved. Without hesitation, I pulled off to the side of the road. People were shouting at me as they drove by, but I paid them no mind. Someone answered my call to the police department. "911. What is your emergency?"

"Get me Commissioner Gordon right away! It is urgent!" I replied in a rush. I found it was getting difficult to breathe. The operator put me on hold, and I stared at the radio as if it was a contaminated object.

"Well," Daniel answered Sammy, the pleasure in his voice, as if each of these memories were giving him immense satisfaction. "Well, she has such an expressionless face, so beautiful. How I long to see it distorted in fear…I want her to break, to cry until she can't cry anymore. I want her to spiral down so far that she cannot even remember her own name. I want to see that vulnerability exposed, so that I can rip it apart and throw away the pieces. And that is just how I feel when I see her face."

My heart froze. Oh Jesus…And he wasn't going to rest until he had accomplished all of that, I was sure of it. Rapidly, a sense of helplessness overtook me. That was my end. That is what I had to look forward to in life: the crumbling of my own mind, until I was nothing more than a toy for Daniel to toss away after I broke. The Asylums couldn't hold him, the police couldn't track him…The only way I could be rid of him is if he…

Died.

I don't know why, but the image of his dead body, eyes blank and unstaring, sent a thrill of chills up and down my spine. And not the bad kind either. Why was that?

I would have to ponder this question later, because Sammy started sputtering, her voice no longer chipper, "Well, um…sir, I do not thing that this is appropriate conversation for the radio. I'm sorry, but we are going to have to cut you off…"

He continued on, feverishly, as if he hadn't heard her. "And when she bleeds! You can see the pain in her eyes. You _know_ she can feel it, but she won't show it. She just…" he sounded frustrated and gave up on trying to explain himself. "Well, it doesn't matter, because she will show me hurt. She _will_ cry, soon. I'll make sure of it. And then…" They had obviously cut him off. Sammy started apologizing profusely to the audience about what they had heard.

The Commissioner's voice was in my ear, asking who it was. I wondered subconsciously how long he had been talking. I jolted, and the words flooded out of my mouth. Maybe he could do something before it is too late…"Commissioner! It's Dr. Dawn. It's Daniel, he's on the radio, talking to someone named Sammy." My voice was frantic. "Station 95.7. He's going to do something! Get someone down to the radio station right away!"

"Wait, slow down…" the Commissioner started, but I didn't hear whatever he had to say, for I had dropped the phone.

Because on the radio, the panicked voice of Sammy was shouting, "How did you get in here?!" And then there was a loud crash and Sammy started yelling, "Get away from me!" Her tone had grown a curious edge. I froze when I heard another voice in the background.

"You cut me off! I wasn't…done…talking…yet!" the furious voice of Daniel shrieked, and each of those pauses was accompanied by a loud thump as fist met flesh. Sammy cried out, her once beautiful voice distorted in pain. Static blurred the station for a second, and then Daniel's voice was clear. But worse were the whimpers of Sammy, her ragged breathing, and choked bawling. The poor girl couldn't be over nineteen, and was quite possibly going to die.

All because of me.

Daniel continued, his voice calm once more. "So as I was saying, I just want to break that exterior she has. Would it kill her to show me a little fear? Something? Actually, it probably would. You know, I don't know if I will kill her yet. It all depends. You see," there was a little, sharp noise that would have been almost unrecognizable, if it had not haunted my nightmares for years: the flick of a switchblade. Sammy cried out again, her tone thick with agony. It was blood curdling. "You see, I've only ever heard her scream once, even through those blissful two weeks. That was when I killed _him_. I still don't understand why she was so upset. I mean, it is so obvious that we were meant for each other. But I will tell you now, it was the most beautiful scream I have ever heard. It was like I was getting a peek at her soul. It was just so _perfect_. I would kill to hear it again. And you know what the irony of it all is? I will probably have to. Irony is such a wonderful term, isn't it?" When Sammy did nothing but weep like a wounded animal, his calm words transformed into a fit of rage, "ISN'T IT?!" Sammy let out a piercing howl and there was a simultaneous sickening crack, then the radio was wracked with heaving sobs. My fists were clenched so hard that my nails had bit into my skin. I barely felt it. Daniel sighed, as if everyone around him was incompetent. "I know you're there, pet. You forget, I _know_ you. You are sitting in your car, on your way home from work, listening in horror as to what is going on. You probably had enough foresight to call the police!" He barked a humorless laugh. "I'm sure you have something to say. You always did. Why don't you call? I'll give you the number. I'm _dying_ to talk to you after all these years. Well actually, Sammy here is dying so that I can talk to you. Ironic, no?"

He proceeded in announcing the number for the station several times, and even though I didn't want to, my mind memorized it. With shaking hands, I slowly reached down and grabbed my phone, where is still lay open. The dial tone was blaring. The Commissioner had hung up on me.

Without any awareness as to what I was doing, I found myself dialing in the numbers, which kept repeating themselves in my thoughts. Daniel's voice immediately answered, and I heard him in my ear as well as the radio. "Well hello pet, long time no hear." He was unbearably self-satisfied. "I had hoped to get your attention. Did you see what I did with Ms. Rayne? I'm betting you liked that one."

I waited until I was sure my voice would be strong. I couldn't let him see how his presence, even over the phone, terrified me. He would feed off it, like a shark in frenzy. "Daniel, you are never going to get it." I let my tone loosen to exasperation; I couldn't allow him think I was impressed by what he has done. "Killing people isn't going to help you understand me. You are _never_ going to understand me. I had hoped you had grasped that during those two weeks. So let it go."

Daniel became furious. "No, you don't understand. I _had_ you! When I made you watch while I killed him, I saw you start to crack! I saw it! I will break you, pet! _**I will**_!"

There was a moment of tense silence, leaving only Sammy's whimpering to fill it. "How does it feel, to know that you aren't safe? That at any moment, I might turn up and destroy whatever semblance of a life you had built up and then create one for us, together? Does it make you afraid?" he provoked, the edge of hysteria in his voice.

I was careful not to let my voice shake. "No Daniel, I am not. I will never fear you. I will hate you, I will be disgusted by you, but I will _never_ fear you."

There was a sickening crack and Sammy's sobbing stopped abruptly. The stillness was deafening. "Yes you will, pet," he promised, his tone dark. "Yes you will."

I didn't have anything to say to that, so I flipped my phone shut. Daniel's voice on the radio seemed disheartened. "Aww, it seems we've lost our caller. How bout a song? This one is for you pet. It's our song."

I knew what he was going to play before the notes reached my ears.

You are an obsession, I cannot sleep

I am a possession unopened at your feet

There is no balance, no equality

Be still I will not accept defeat

I will have you, yes I will have you

I will find a way and I will have you

Like a butterfly, a wild butterfly

I will collect you and capture you

You are an obsession, you're my obsession

Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

You are an obsession, you're my obsession

Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

I feed you, I drink you by day and by night

I need you, I need you by sun or candlelight

You protest, you want to leave

You say there's no alternative

I will have you, yes I will have you

I will find a way and I will have you

Like a butterfly, a wild butterfly

I will collect you and capture you

It was at the end of the song that I realized that I had the power to shut it off. I seemed like hours that I simply stared at the windshield numbly; unable to accept that was ultimately because of me that two women were dead. It was my entire fault. Daniel would never be stopped. People would continue to die until either he or I met our end.

And it sure as hell wasn't going to be me.

Suddenly, I became furious. I have no idea where the rage came from, only that it consumed me so thoroughly that I couldn't bring myself to care what the source was. Daniel was going to die, and I didn't give a damn how.

My phone started vibrating, and I hesitantly looked at the caller ID. It was the Commissioner. I answered, and his frantic orders greeted me. "Dr. Dawn, you need to get home right away. Daniel has escaped. It is possible that he is going to come after you and…" Of course he escaped; should I have expected anything different? The police were merely like bugs on Daniel's windshield, irritating but don't keep him from driving on. Occasionally, he has to stop and wipe their guts off his glass, but they didn't deserve a second thought.

My tone was stoic as I replied, "Yes Commissioner. I will go home immediately." Without waiting for a response, I flipped my phone shut and shifted my car into drive. I sped onto the fast lane, ignoring the honks of angry cars. But I wasn't headed in the direction of my home. No, I had turned facing the Asylum.

There was someone I needed to talk to.

For full lyrics to the song, it is called "Obsession" by Animotion


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Not as long as the last, but essential and fun nonetheless. I'd appreciate reviews, and thank you to those of you that do review.

"Now why exactly have you woken me up and brought me here, Sin?" the Joker asked lazily, leaning as far back in his chair as the handcuffs would allow. The bright light was searing. I glanced at my watch. I would have twenty minutes before the guards said they would come in to check on us. It was late enough in the day that most the staff had left, so the asylum was relatively empty. My heart thudded in my throat. Could I really be considering…?

It had to be done.

As much of a hurry I was in, I took time with attempting to explain our unscheduled session. This had to be done meticulously; I couldn't afford to screw it up. "I decided that it would be story sharing time. Remember that story you wanted me to share? Well, I think it is time you heard it."

Intrigue flashed in his eyes before they were hooded again. He leaned forward slightly, scrutinizing me, measuring me up briefly before quickly coming to a conclusion of sorts and giggling insanely. "Well, it's about time, Sin! I was starting to think you were holding out on me!"

For a second, I doubted myself. Was I really doing the right thing? God, now that I know better, in hindsight, I wish I'd listened to those doubts. I wish I would've said, 'Haha, Joker, just yanking your chain. Back to your cell! Chop, chop!' But instead I replied in a careful tone, "Don't talk, just listen. Let me finish before you say anything, alright?" He nodded impatiently, and I took a minute to continue, cautious to keep my voice monotonous. The last thing I needed was to let my voice shake when I recounted my past. The Joker still is a manipulator, and I would have to keep in mind that anything I said to him could be used against me in the future.

"Almost four and a half years ago, I got a patient named Daniel Dew." The Joker made a face at the name, but I ignored it. "At the time, I was a well-known criminal psychologist, and Daniel was nothing more than the run-of-the-mill murderer that I met with each day. I recommended him into some classes for anger management, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, ect. It was while he took those classes that I noticed the change in him. He was suddenly very occupied by the human mind and how it worked. In his classes, he would talk more to the patients than he would the doctors, studying their minds and habits. He became fascinated at the effect certain events or words could have on people. Much like you, Joker." I met his eyes darkly before carrying on.

"Then his sessions with his other psychologists changed. After a while it seemed that he seemed to be affecting the teachers rather than them affecting him. By the end of four months, Daniel had driven every single one of them into madness, and later killed them." _Boring_, he had said they were once. _Boring_ _and easy_. "He was consumed with the need to manipulate people. He told me later that it was twice as exhilarating as killing. Daniel wanted to see that light of sanity leave his victims eyes." The Joker licked his lips in interest, and once again, those uncertainties clawed my subconscious. But I forced myself on. I had to. I managed to keep a steady voice with my next sentences. "Unfortunately, when he _couldn't_ figure someone out, he became obsessed with the challenge. Although I'm not exactly sure how, I became Daniel's obsession. I suppose I wasn't as easy to crack as the other doctors, I'm not sure." I felt myself leave the white room as the memories that flooded into my mind, and instead I was surrounded by wood.

"When Daniel escaped four years ago, my fiancé and I had just enough warning to get to our retreat cabin that we had bought only months ago. It was secluded, and no one knew of it. We thought we were safe." It was getting too bright all of the sudden, and I shut my eyes, as if I was trying to keep out the images that threatened to explode in my mind's eye. The room was quiet with the exception of the Joker's even breathing and my racing pulse. I gently fingered the bracelet my friend had given me, trying to calm myself.

"Daniel showed up after only two days of his escape. The first thing he did was kill my fiancé in front of me. At first, he thought he had broken me, but even amidst the grief, I knew that if I let him think that he had gotten to me, he would kill me as well." I opened my eyes and gave the Joker a very tired smile, devoid of warmth or happiness. "And you have no idea how hard I fought with myself to make that decision. Throughout the next two weeks especially, there were periods of time that I would have welcomed such an easy escape as death." I felt the hot prickles of fury wash over me. It was because of that murderer that I could hardly remember the man I once loved's face. It was because of him that I was sitting here, recounting my horrific past with an insane clown. It was because of him I would never ever be touched again. "But I couldn't let him win."

The Joker couldn't seem to contain his question, and it should have scared me the way he said it. His tone was sinisterly eager. "What did he do to you?"

A dead look passed over my eyes. I had detached that part of my past so much that all I remembered now were flashes, and it was as though I was watching it happen to someone else. "He tied me up to a chair in the dark, with nothing but a bright light shining in my face. Then he cut off my fiancé's hand and tied it to mine, saying that if I wanted to be with my fiancé so bad, well then we could hold hands forever. Limbs, he told me, can come off rather easily."

There, on my right hand, I could still feel the cold clammy skin, the dried, crusted

blood. It was still there. I forced myself on. "For weeks, I stayed in that chair. Then he played 'our song' on an old, scratchy vinyl record. Of course, he attempted to toy with my mind in several different ways—threatening, using violence, promising an escape, and so on—but when he failed, he wasn't sure what to do with me. I sensed his growing frustration, so I—well, I managed to get him to let me out of that damn chair. I knocked him out and got word to the police." I never would forget Daniel's face when he caught up to me. I forced back a shiver.

I allowed myself to swim out of my consciousness' shell and return slowly back to the room. Something, once again I couldn't figure out what, was gleaming in the Joker's dark eyes. That should've been my first hint. I should've stopped then, but oblivious to just what I was putting into motion, I continued on. "He has been in an Institution for four years, until he just escaped about a week ago. Now he is in Gotham, killing people to get to me. The police can't find him, let alone contain him. He is free to do as he pleases." I ground my teeth. "I'm sure you know what that is like, Joker."

The Joker snickered. "I did up until recently."

I bore my gaze into his. Now that I was finished with my little story, I had to work my skills. "Lately, Daniel has been the new terror of Gotham. People are hiding and afraid. No one can protect them. The city is in chaos."

The Joker wetted his lips again, and I smiled slyly. "That is what you've always wanted, isn't it Joker, chaos?" He cackled, and I took that as a yes. Then I sighed. "It's too bad though that it isn't you causing it, though. There is some _other _madman out there doing your job, hogging your glory. Isn't the destruction of Gotham _yours_ to pursue?"

He tilted his greasy head to the side. "I like your style, Sin. But I wonder why you would want to get me all riled up about some obsessed lunatic taking over my city?"

I should've known he'd see what I was doing. "Daniel Dew appears to be unstoppable. So what do you do when there is an unstoppable force? You put an immovable object in its path."

His dark eyes lit up and a shiver went down my spine. The room suddenly seemed colder. "Really now? And how is this immoveable object getting in the unstoppable force's path when it is locked up in a little white cell?"

I studied at him for a long time. This was my last chance to back out. Was I truly doing the best thing? Could I trust him? No, but could I afford not to? Was there some other way to escape the hell Daniel had awaiting me?

I folded my hands cautiously, without taking my eyes off his. "I have a proposition you might be interested in. I bust you out of here, and you make it your number one priority to take down Daniel Dew. I don't care how you do it, as long as no one else is killed. After he is taken care of, you are free to do whatever you want. Then you and the men-in-blue can continue in that never-ending cycle of arrest-and-escape that you do so well, and I can get the hell out of this city."

The Joker dissolved into a fit of laughter. I waited impatiently for his answer; the guards would come to check in on us in ten minutes. "You are as nuts as I am!" he finally mustered.

I sighed again, this time for real. "Probably. Do we have a deal?"

He stopped laughing abruptly, but a grin was still plastered on his face. "This guy must really freak you out if you are turning to me for help."

I hissed before I could help myself, "No, he doesn't. He is just threatening me. And I don't like being threatened. Now, _do we have a deal_?"

"Well I don't really have a choice. It's either bust out of here and help you with your pest problem or rot in this dump." Licking his lips, he paused and his expression darkened sinisterly. "Now how exactly do you plan on breaking me out of here."

I let a smug smile play on my lips. "Don't worry, it'll be a piece of cake."

The Joker snickered. "There is hope for you yet, Sin."

Warily, I eyed the clown for a second. At the time, I had been thinking that by unleashing another mad dog to take down another escaped mad dog was a good idea. Risky, but the only option. The Joker was as crazy as Daniel and didn't abide by the laws that governed the judicial system. He would kill Daniel and not think twice about it. He was precisely what the task called for. Funny though, how at the time I hadn't even considered that the Joker could be worse than Daniel. Maybe it is because Daniel had personally done something to traumatize me. Maybe it is because he killed people that I knew, while the people the Joker murdered had no value to me. Or maybe it is because whenever I had envisioned the face of evil, for such a long time it had always been Daniel's that would appear in my mind's eye. Whatever the reason, I didn't believe that the Joker would ever be more of a threat than Daniel.

Boy was I ever wrong.


	8. Chapter 8

(Alas, one of my crappier chapters, which is why I put it off for so long. Good news, though, is that it is a _long_ piece of crap, if that helps at all. Thank you for the reviews and enjoy.)

"Nice ride!" the Joker called to me against the roar of the wind. I gripped the door handle tightly, watching as we whizzed past a line of cars, weaving in and out of traffic. As it turns out, the Joker is uh…you know those reckless drivers that you learned about in Driver's Ed? The one you always see in those gory movies who drives sixty over and never uses turning signals? The one you always think to yourself while watching the video, 'Like anyone would be stupid enough to give that idiot a car anyways…' Well, the Joker, it appears, is one of those drivers. Also, it appears I am one of those stupid people.

But I really couldn't drive. As a part of my plan, I had to look like I was a hostage. If, after my little deal follows through, I ever wanted to get back to any semblance of a normal life, being a mass murderer's accomplice was not the way to go about it. So after I sufficiently distracted the guards long enough for the Joker to head bash one of them in the nose and get his hands on one of their guns, I had appeared to be nothing more than a hostage. I am a wonderful actor, apparently, as the Joker had commented this when we busted out the glass in my office (after both men were effectively gagged and subdued), which was just down the hall. Because it was after hours, there was far less security than if it had been daylight. Because of my position as the Joker's psychiatrist, I also had the code for the tracker on his ankle. We tore out of the Arkham parking lot less than twenty minutes later. I probably deserved some villain's award or something.

"You know, there really is no need to draw attention to yourself. The last thing we need is a high-speed chase," I pointed out, keeping my white-knuckled grasp on the door. Maybe there was some way to make it look like I was a hostage and still be able to drive…

The Joker gave me a pitiful expression, taking his eyes off the road, where they should have been. "Sin," he complained, like a pleading puppy, "let me have a little fun. I've been locked up for like what, two weeks? Cut a guy some slack."

Had I not been so afraid for my life, I probably would have rolled my eyes. However, the blaring of car horns around us made it hard to concentrate on sarcastic gestures. I had always considered myself a bit of a reckless driver, but this…this was madness.

But what else should I expect? The Joker lived for madness.

I yelped when we grazed the bumper of the car in front of us. Normally I wouldn't be so easy to rile. Usually it takes a lot more than some bad driving to scare me. Daniel could attest to that. Unfortunately, all of those worries and doubts I _should _have been having back in the interrogation room were starting to creep up on me. How could I have ever led myself to believe, even for a _second_, that I could have control over this? Did I really think I could keep this crazy clown from killing more innocent people? What exactly did I have to threaten him with?

I blamed Daniel. This was, after all, his entire fault. He was the one who drove me to such desperateness. Looking over at the maniac smile plastered on the Joker's face, I wondered, how desperate had I been to resort to this?

I closed my eyes, attempting to find a shred of reasonable consciousness amidst all the insanity I had created. Yes, I had broken the Joker out of the asylum. Yes, he was a murderer, who was quite possibly insane (although I hadn't diagnosed him yet). But he hasn't shown me anything thus far to prove it wasn't his intention to kill Daniel. I could only assume for now that he was going to keep to his word.

My breath caught in my throat when I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of flashing red and blue lights. "Shit!" I swore harshly, looking over my shoulder and seeing about six approaching cop cars, all trailing us.

Our new companions seemed to finally catch the Joker's attention for he started giggling insanely. "Grab the wheel, Barbie," he ordered, and before I could prepare myself, he let go and turned around, pulling the stolen gun out of his jumpsuit pocket (he was still in that blinding white asylum outfit). Frantically, I launched myself across the middle console and at the steering wheel, holding it steady, all the while ending up half in the Joker's lap, flinching at the contact. A smug expression peered down at me as I attempted to straighten the car out. My poor BMW… "A little eager, Sin, aren't we?" the Joker taunted.

I ignored him and instead focused on the gun in his hands. "Hey," I hissed. "No killing anyone but Daniel. That was part of the deal."

I started wriggling out of my seatbelt so that I could sit straight and control the car. This position was making me a little nervous.

The Joker twirled the gun expertly on his finger, as if he was pondering something. "You know, I don't think it counts as a deal, as I was whacked out on medications…That is taking advantage of me, Sin…"

Grumbling profanities under my breath, I took one hand off the steering wheel and after a moment's struggle, unbuckled my seatbelt, sighing in relief when I sat up from the Joker's lap and into the middle consol. I then attempted to concentrate on the road, not on what the Joker had just told me. Which was basically, he didn't give a shit about whatever deal I made with him. Which meant that my last thread of reasonable consciousness had been plucked.

I struggled for something to say, to make him hold his word for at least the time being. I worked my face into a disappointed expression. "Mnh, I thought it would be interesting to see the infamous Joker manage out of a police chase without use of a weapon, but I suppose if he simply cannot…"

Immediately, the Joker stopped twirling the gun and narrowed his eyes at me. "What are you trying to say Sin?" he shot at me. Careful to keep my eyes on the road, I forced my voice to remain detached.

"All I'm saying is that I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to give yourself a bit of a challenge, Joker. It would be too easy to shoot their tires out, cause a bit of a pile-up and get off scott-free. But to actually _outrun_ them would be a bit more difficult. I was just wondering if it was _too_ difficult for you…" I trailed off and let him absorb my words.

After a moment's thought and suspicious glaring in my direction, he slowly returned his gun to his coat pocket. Then he shoved my hands off the wheel and took over. I resisted sighing in relief. No one was getting hurt. Yet.

Suddenly, he burst into laughter and yanked the wheel to the side. Sitting in the middle and no longer having a door handle to hold on to, I was helplessly tossed about. "Let's see what you got, boys in blue!" he cackled, turning the wheel again, and thus the car, and thus me, to the other side. The tires squealed, and I cursed myself for suggesting the Joker outrun them. This, most definitely, could not be in my best interests.

I bit my lip nervously, though instantly regretted it a few seconds later because we hit a small pothole and it made the car bounce, my teeth cutting into my lower lip. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth and the Joker's insane laughter roared in my ears, the sirens not far behind.

Dear God, what have I done?

"Ah! Home, sweet home!"

The Joker clapped his hands together and the lights flickered on, revealing a dimly lit large room, with several hallways leading off into unknown places. There wasn't even carpet, and the walls were still in the plaster stage. Trash littered the ground and the sparse furniture was horribly moth-eaten. I wrinkled my nose at the stench, which was a mix of explosives and dirty socks. I caught sight of a rat scuttling along in one of the corners. Nervously, I fingered my bracelet.

But what caught my attention was that one of the walls was covered in newspaper clippings and articles. All the faces had clearly been given exaggerated smiles with red pen. I moved to examine them, my natural curiosity getting the better of me, but jumped slightly when the Joker whistled loudly.

There were the immediate thuds of pounding footsteps to answer him back. In less than a minute, eight men were assembled, most looked as if they had been asleep. Each of them blended in with the scruffy walls, like they belonged. Their eyes widened at the Joker. "Hey boss! I thought you weren't getting out of joint for a month!" one short, bulky man exclaimed, wiping his filthy hand on his greasy shirt. I noticed a few bloodstains faded into his clothing as well.

"Shut up Sampson," the Joker snapped, and then the smile grew wicked on his face as he licked his lips. "You know boys, I was getting awful lonely in there, wondering where my hounds were…"

Sampson spoke up again. "But boss! You said we wasn't supposed to break you out until after the mayor did that speech in a month!"

Quick as a flash, the Joker had the stolen gun out and had pulled the trigger. Sampson dropped dead to the ground. The sound of the gunshot rang in my ears; I stared in horror at the body on the ground, which was now a massacre of red, eyes open and unstaring. It reminded me so much of a certain other body that I froze and stared at the corpse, a rush of unwanted emotions and memories flooding though me. Frantically, I fought against them, pushing them back into the corners of my mind, where they belonged.

Luckily, the Joker didn't seem to notice my little internal combat. Instead, he rounded on the rest of his henchmen, who had suddenly gone rigid and lost that sleepy posture they had been carrying. When the Joker whips out a gun, I suppose they knew that it was time to act professional. Occasionally, one of them would glance over in my direction, obviously bewildered by my presence, but they had enough sense not to ask.

"Now," the Joker continued on, in a cheerful voice. "I was sitting there, wondering why in the world I wasn't seeing fireworks and sunshine. I mean, my dogs must've seen the news. They must've known that they needed to do their jobs…"

The Joker trailed off, twirling his gun before his dark eyes landed on what looked like the oldest man there, a tall willowy sort of person most likely in his early sixties. His face among the others was the only one that remained unchanged when the Joker shot Sampson. His rheumy eyes were tired. It was his weary expression that forced my gaze away from the dead body on the ground.

"Old Yeller!" the Joker cried out happily, as if greeting an old friend. "My most loyal mutt! I thought that I left you in charge when I was gone…"

The elderly man, Old Yeller, pursed his lips. "Boss, I followed your instructions," he said simply, his voice raspy and cracked from cigarettes.

The Joker tisked, that sinister smile ever present. "Now now, Old Yeller. You must've seen the news. You must've known that my little plan wasn't going to follow through when _she_," he jerked his thumb at me and all the men's eyes followed its direction, "got involved. I said break me out in a five weeks, but in four weeks I might've been in the electric chair…_tisk tisk tisk…_Old Yeller, I thought you would've had common sense…"

The old man seemed too disheartened to either bother replying. The Joker started twirling his gun again, boring his gaze into his wrinkled features. "Did you ever see _Old Yeller_? See, Old Yeller was this faithful, _loyal_ dog that always obeyed his master. But then one day he turns on him and the master has no choice but to…well, shoot him." There was a slight pause, and I knew what was coming, but I had no way to brace myself against it. I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming; the Joker barely aimed and hot lead hit the man square in the chest. For an instant, the tired eyes flickered in fear before they became glass. I winced when the body hit the ground. The Joker giggled. "That part of the movie always got to me," he joked aloud, laughing even harder.

The men barely reacted this time. None of them wanted to make a wrong move. After he calmed down, the Joker started shooting off orders. "Sparky and Otis! Clean this mess up! Spike and Rex, go make sure we weren't followed by the police. Fluffy, go shake up our man down at the station and find out what they are planning to do about my little escape. Lassie! Go make up a room for our _guest _here. We want her to be comfortable, don't we?" They all nodded obediently and went about doing as the Joker said. Two of them grabbed the two bodies by the elbows and dragged them out of the room, leaving a thick blood of trail behind.

The Joker approached me, and I forced myself into a detached state. The Joker couldn't know how much his murderous actions were affecting me or else he would use them against me. But I could still feel their dead eyes watching me… My skin crawled. "Aww Sin," he said piteously, "I hope you aren't regretting letting me out of the nut house, because I think we are going to have a lot of fun together…and well, there really isn't anything you can do about it now is there?" He cackled, high and cold, and my fists clenched.

I fixed him with a hard glare. "When are you going after Daniel?" I asked finally.

At my lack of response towards his taunting, he grew furious. Without warning, he had shoved me against the wall, with a pocketknife, though I haven't a clue where it could have come from, to my throat. I felt the cool blade against my skin, making me flinch. My mind started to spin out of control, my thoughts screaming against the contact…

"Sin, Sin, Sin," he chastised, much like he had chastised Old Yeller before murdering him. "I don't think you understand. There aren't any big bad doctors with needles and straightjackets to keep you safe here. There isn't a glass wall between you and me. And there aren't any handcuffs to keep me from wrapping my hands around that pretty little neck of yours. This is my world now and my rules. So you don't tell me what to do and when to do it. Understand?" For emphasis, he let the blade of the knife bite into my skin.

Everything he told me hit me like a rock wall, momentarily making me forget about my fear of being touched. It was true, all of it. I had nothing to protect me, nothing that could keep him in line, nothing to control him with…

Well, except my mind of course.

If there was one thing I had learned in all my years of criminal psychology, it was that, when used correctly, a little manipulation could be as effective as a gun at the head, or in this case, a knife to the throat. But I would have to be very careful. One slipup and it could be fatal…

The Joker's breath was hot against my cheek, and I forced back an uncomfortable squirm at the proximity of his face. The knife dug deeper into my skin, stinging, as the Joker impatiently waited for me to agree. I let the corners of my lips curve into a smile, even though smiling was the last thing I felt like doing. "Ah Joker, this is so typical of you. Assert your authority by killing a few people and threatening everyone else." Although he terrified me, I felt a small surge of satisfaction to see the surprise flash though his eyes. I leaned forward a little, though my instincts fought against it, just to show him he didn't scare me and went on, "You forget Joker, this isn't the first time I've had to face a patient without the handcuffs and straightjacket."

The Joker's grip on my shoulder tightened until it was almost painful. "Yeah, but I just might be the first one with the guts to end your miserable life," he hissed, the creases in his face deepened with anger.

I raised a lazy eyebrow, simulating boredom, even though my nerves were electrified with the anxiety. "Really now? Go ahead, nothing's stopping you," I challenged. I was unsure if I was pushing him too far. My heart started thudding in my throat. My fingers shook.

But I never got to find out what the Joker would've done because one of the men, Sparky, I think, stumbled back into the room. "Boss!" he announced, the tremor of panic in his voice. "There is something on TV I think you should see."

After a second's hesitation, the Joker let go of me, and I rubbed the blood on my neck with my sweater sleeve, relief at being away from his touch overwhelming. The Joker reluctantly returned his knife to his pocket and wordlessly told me to follow him. I trailed along after him, more out of curiosity than compliance. What was on the TV that was so important?

Sparky led us down a hall and into a larger, just as filthy room, which appeared to be something similar to a living room. Against the wall was a good-sized TV, with trash piled high on top. A few of the men were sitting around it, watching intently. Once turned up the volume. But I barely noticed any of that, because on the TV was the one face I dreaded above everything else.

"So uh…Joker, is it?" Daniel said lazily, a gun to the head of a talk show host. "I think you have something that belongs to me."


End file.
